


Fragments of Azeroth [ON HIATUS]

by InFamousHero



Series: A War in Starlight [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/F, Flash Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Lovecraftian, No Faction War, Old Gods, Psychological Horror, Universe Alteration, i will take a hammer and fix the canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InFamousHero/pseuds/InFamousHero
Summary: The scent of Azeroth's blood has emboldened old enemies, biding their time until the world is weak enough to crush beneath the rising tide. An uneasy peace settles between the Horde and Alliance, hurting from the war with the Legion and unwilling to lose more while the very world they live on hangs by a thread. Azeroth's children will rise together, or fall alone.[Starts before Battle for Azeroth, moving forward as patches/launch progress] - [A collection of shorts and drabbles] - [Errors will be caught as and when they can]-FIC HAS BEEN COMPLETELY REWRITTEN TO ALIGN WITH ALTERED CANON-





	1. Prologue: Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A faction war? In MY Azeroth? Not in this economy.

In the wake of the Legion’s defeat, the world of Azeroth celebrated its survival in the face of such a brutal campaign. The defenders of the world returned home to be loved, or mourned, as many gave their lives to bring the Legion’s crusade to an end. An uneasy quiet settled over the people of the Horde and Alliance, each eyeing the other as wounds were bound and the honoured dead put to rest.

The Order Halls, forming the spinal column of the Legion offensive, convened once more in Dalaran and agreed to turn their attentions to the people of the world. War against the Legion had been for the survival of all—they would not allow a war of fear to overtake them now.

So it was that those heroes set out to act as voices of reason and understanding, rectifying the misunderstandings and mistakes of the Legion campaign. The debacle at the Broken Shore was finally cleared of the insidious misinformation spread by Legion agents, revealing the truth of the Horde’s retreat and the loss of their Warchief, Vol’jin.

So too, did the truth of Stormheim find its way into the ears of leadership. Genn Greymane found himself punished for instigating an unprovoked battle during the height of the invasion, losing Alliance lives, the few airships they had left, and endangering the Legion offensive for his personal vendetta. Under mounting pressure and shame for the needless loss of life, Genn abdicated the throne to his daughter Tess, becoming a notable voice of reason and peace.

[With Helya, Eyir and the rest of val’kyr freed from Odyn’s tyranny,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757710) the forsaken looked towards a better future. Some had begun to change, transformed by Helya and Eyir’s power and given bodies that may not be living but were at least whole, no longer falling apart like a common corpse. Talk spread throughout the Horde of the ‘Honoured Undead,’ great warriors given a choice to rise again, if they wished. A second chance to fight for the Horde they loved. For now, it was only talk, but without the fear of necrotic horror and the question of free will hanging over it, some were warming to the idea of a second life.

Thanks to the aid of Alliance heroes in securing her people’s future, Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner extended an olive branch in the form of talks, willing to give the Alliance a chance and see if there was another way to settle their differences. Though intense and heated at times, the talks proved promising, and agreements were slowly worked out.

Though the future looked promising, concern was rising from the south of Kalimdor, where the shadow of Sargeras’s dreadblade fell across what remained of Silithus. The Earthen Ring and the Cenarion circle worked feverishly to ascertain how bad the damage was, trekking across the broken landscape and the countless gullies and streams of a strange, golden substance that slowly crystalized in open air. It was bubbling up from the Wound, and it was spreading. They called it Azerite, the blood of a dying world.

Fearing the corruption of the blade would speed Azeroth’s demise, Magni Bronzebeard called on the Order Halls to bring forth their great weapons in an effort to the contain the corruption. The weapons that won countless battles against the Legion were sacrificed to neutralise Sargeras’s dreadblade, drawing out the corruption and rendering them of little more use than any regular weapon. Though such powerful artifacts were lost, it bought the planet time that was desperately needed to staunch the flow and formulate a plan of action.

Days ticked into weeks and months, and strange reports began to filter in across all channels. Azerite was being collected by unknown forces as it began to crop up elsewhere in the world at an increasingly rapid pace. The Horde and Alliance secured sites for study, carefully watched by members of the Unseen Path and the Uncrowned to neutralise hostility, but they simply didn’t have enough eyes to find and secure every site. Someone, somewhere, was gathering Azerite for their own purposes, and the fears of it ending up in malevolent hands grew exponentially.

The disappearances began not long after. It happened most of all near bodies of water, rivers, lakes, and the coastline, and menacing hallucinations followed them like a shadow. A story spread from Booty Bay to Silvermoon, Darnassus to Gadgetzan, and all coastal areas in between, it spared no species. People found standing on the beach, or wading into the surf in the twilight before dawn, glassy eyed and unresponsive, usually in their nightclothes. They didn’t speak, and broke down crying when they came out of their trance, unable to answer the many questions that followed.

Cultists, the reports claimed, stalking the coastal cities and towns, spreading their lies to the desperate or isolated. They travelled inland up the rivers and outward to the islands.

A great shadow has formed over the seas, bleeding up  from the depths, and no one is quite sure when the storm will hit…


	2. A Moment of Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keleria and Thalyssra take what time they can for each other, even as new threats begin to rise...

Breathing in the scent of dusk lilies, Keleria feathered kisses across Thalyssra’s shoulders and neck, revelling in the warm friction of flesh. With strong, experienced fingers working at the crux of her thighs, Thalyssra arched and tightened her hold on Keleria’s hair, holding Keleria against her neck. She muttered something wordless, breathless, a passionate utterance of approval and encouragement Keleria was all too happy to obey.

The arch of her spine, the tension in her thighs, the way she twisted just enough to strike the right nerve at the right time—Thalyssra’s moans were music Keleria lost herself to.

Thalyssra was hardly a greedy lover but Keleria knew herself to be eager when committed, bordering on worship when it came to intimate matters, and she took great pride in it.

Thalyssra’s voice pitched, her pleasure cresting, and Keleria held her firm as she shuddered to warm, slick end. The tension bled from her muscles to leave her a satisfied puddle in Keleria’s arms and she sighed happily, slumping against her. Keleria chuckled and pulled her down on the mattress.

“You seem tired, darling,” she murmured against Thalyssra’s ear, biting it.

“You!” Thalyssra hissed, raking a hand against her thigh, “you are insatiable.”

Another chuckle bubbled out of her and Keleria smirked. “How can I not be with such a _feast_ before me?” She emphasized her words with a kneading hand against Thalyssra’s backside, prompting a breathless groan from her lover. Thalyssra huffed and turned in her arms, facing Keleria. “You will be the end of me,” she whispered, sighing.

Keleria grinned and pulled Thalyssra against her chest to sleep, comfortable, at ease, and deeply content.

 

* * *

 

 

She gasped for air as she came up, wrenched from a cold, dark abyss into the waking world. Keleria pawed at her throat and looked around, staring at Thalyssra’s chambers and the dusk sky peeking in from the balconies.

“Kel?” Thalyssra’s groggy voice pulled her attention away from the slithering sensation around her neck. It felt like something was wrapped around in the dream. Keleria frowned deeply and rubbed the area until the sensation faded.

“Bad dream,” she murmured. “Have you… have you experienced any strangeness in Suramar lately?”

Thalyssra peered at her, befuddled. “Do you mean…?”

“Yes.”

“There have been a number of incidents concentrated around the docks and canals. We… also have yet to hear from Jandvik, they went quiet a few nights back. I was planning to send someone to check on them.”

Keleria rubbed her brow slowly. Something tight and cold was crawling up the back of her skull, aching. “You should.”

The bed shifted and warm hands pulled Keleria down. She relaxed against Thalyssra, snuggling back into the soft sheets. Thalyssra kissed her brow and murmured, “it will be alright.”

Keleria could almost believe her.


	3. Shadows over Teldrassil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rising shadows begin to close around their prey...

Ammonia caught her nose as she spoke, sputtering and clutching the sheets in a cold sweat. She reached for her weapon and pulled up a simple steel blade so light in her hands that it flew from her grasp and embedded in the ceiling with a dull _thunk._

There it was again, the tightness, the _squeezing_ around her neck by something cold and wet.

Keleria forced her breathing to calm down and stared at the blade, the force of her throw left it vibrating.

It took her a moment to filter dream from reality, bleeding the images of engulfing maws and writing masses from her mind. Eyes, thousands of eyes, unblinking, formless limbs stretching from the depths of the sea.

The sea.

Nightmares came with Outland. When the war for its freedom ended she found herself here, waking from nightmares about a world broken and fel-scarred. But this wasn’t about the Legion, the smell was different, the sensations were—slime and scale, needle fangs of opaque glass, closing like a cage, tongues dancing like kelp in the waves…

Keleria shook her head and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed.

She expected Argus, not this. Stepping outside the Vindicaar saw her wretch on the battlefield of the first time in a very, very long time. When that _thing_ pierced Azeroth she lost hope. For a terrible, agonising moment she lost hope and _wailed_ in desperate, her heart freezing in her throat, desperately praying for her home to survive. And it did. Somehow, _somehow_ , that was all that happened. Sargeras was wrenched from their world, imprisoned, his crusade finally over.

The smell of suramari starleaf calmed her further and she brought the tea to her lips, gently blowing on it. Tremors rippled its surface and she grimaced, setting the cup down.

Sighing, Keleria lay her hands flat on the kitchen counter and hung her head, eyes closed.

She missed the security of her weapons, the great twin crescents of the Mother Moon whose edges glowed as starlight in her grasp. It pained her deeply to draw such malevolence into them but it had to be done. It wasn’t enough that Sargeras made their world _bleed_ but that accursed blade tried to poison its heart. Goddess only knew what would have happened then, another Argus, perhaps.

Now here they were, fumbling for a solution, with some new danger lurking in the shadows, drawn by the scent of blood. How little time it took for the world to be at risk again.

A knock at her door pulled her back to the waking world and she moved to answer it, crossing the short breadth of modest home. Amber eyes waited on the other side of the door and Salia smiled tightly at her. 

The young elf made quite a name for herself during the Legion campaign and ended up under the wing of the venerable Shadowblade Lirelle Vandoran running ‘errands.’ The ‘Fangs’ were absent from her hips, spirited away as everyone’s defunct artifacts were, and replaced by mundane steel.

Keleria eyed the thin scroll in Salia’s grip and held out her hand. Salia gave it to her with a short nod.

“Bad news,” Keleria murmured pre-emptively, unrolling it.

“It’s Ashenvale. The nightmares are spreading and getting worse, hallucinations too. Some people have been fighting each other over perceived betrayals and other irrational nonsense.”

Keleria read the rest of the report. On top of the paranoia, fish and other animals seemed to have gone into hiding over the last few nights. The druids were having trouble figuring out why, as something was muddling their senses. She frowned deeply and looked at Salia. “Anything else?”

Salia wrinkled her nose, lips curling unpleasantly.  “There’s been… odd activity in the ranks. Some Sentinels have been wandering off unaccounted for at the same time there’s a dip in the Azerite we have to hand.”

“Vandoran needs to focus her attention on them.”

“That’s the problem, she already is. It’s like they know they’re being followed. The individuals doing it are hard to keep track of and we’ve had more than a few operatives go missing entirely or turn up with amnesia.”

“Is that it?”

Salia grimaced and Keleria’s stomach churned. “We’ve seen similar activity in Durotar and the Barrens. Something big is going on and we have no idea who is doing it, but… Vandoran thinks it may be Twilight Hammer, or some other Old God affiliate.”

Looking over the information again, Keleria couldn’t help but let her frown deepen. She sighed and bid Salia away with a curt gesture. The young elf nodded and turned, leaving her to close the door and return to her tea. She sat down and pressed a hand to her eyes, trying to find some solid thought to start with so she could reach out to Thalyssra and inform her. _“Thalyssra, be careful who you trust. We may be dealing with the Old Gods again.”_

The silence hung for only a few moments.

_“Jandvik is empty. We do not know for certain where the vrykul went, but we think they walked into the sea.”_

The sand cracked and rippled under their boots, blood caked hands pressing into wounds, a visceral sheen of life force, rich and deep, deep, painting symbols across the skin for the salt to eat away…

Keleria roughly shook her head, blinking away the sudden images of crimson hands, dripping in darkness. She shook her head again, a pulse of alarm and worry shot across her senses. When Thlayssra spoke she sounded distance. _“What was that?”_

_“I… how much of that did you feel?”_

_“Enough.”_

Keleria swallowed hard and rose from her seat, her home felt as if it was pressing in around her. She opened her door and stepped outside. Moisture fled her tongue, her skin prickled, and the grass was cold beneath her feet.

Thalyssra’s voice was barely a whisper. _“Keleria?”_

Eyes. Thousands of them. Liquid black, blinking in the shadows between branches and boughs and leaves and vines. Keleria blinked hard and stumbled back, shutting the door. She touched her throat, trying to remember how to breathe. _“Something is coming… I… I need to…”_ Her stomach lurched into her throat like a wriggling thing, a squid trying to escape her belly. She swallowed thickly and wiped a hand down her sweat laden face, pressing it to her mouth. She scowled, freehand clenched against her stomach. Her legs shivered, her shoulders curved in—she could barely think.

Thalyssra called to her again, distantly, like a cry in the wind. Her world toppled sideways and Keleria hit the floor, cut off from the world outside.

 


	4. They Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm begins to break over northern Kalimdor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't returned to this in the last couple of days and you're confused, read through from the beginning.

Keleria woke sharply, her cheek numb against the cool floor of her home. She sprang to her feet and staggered at the dizziness that washed over her. Shaking it off, she hastily slipped on her gambeson, strapped a simple steel blade to her hip, and snatched up her hippogryph whistle.

Sprinting outside she blew hard, releasing a silent cry for help. She made it no further than a hundred feet before Etharadar dove from the canopy and briefly landed, allowing her a window to jump on his back before he took the air again, racing for Darnassus with her heels urging into his flank.

Her skin absolutely _crawled_.

The forest was a blur, her mind raced with corrupt shadows and eyes, so many accursed eyes that burned, burned, _burned_ with untold cunning and unadulterated evil. Her stomach churned at its gaze, her mind reeled—the name sat on her tongue like tar.

She shook it off.

Etharadar cleared the outer limits, scattering leaves in his wake, and the city spread out below them.

It was fine. For now. It didn’t soothe the dread, inching through her spine like every segment was slowly freezing.

Closer inspection revealed a flurry of activity. Sentinels were rushing back and forth, runners, couriers, members of the sisterhood--something had happened.

She brought Etharadar down by a squad of Sentinels listening to their captain and spoke with iron-clad authority.

“Sentinel! What is happening?”

The captain stiffed at her tone, a long ingrained response that had the younger kaldorei turning sharply and meeting her stare. Thankfully, she was recognised.

“It’s Ashenvale. An unknown force attacked… everything, between the Southfury River and Maestra’s Post.”

Her stomach lurched and she adjusted her grip on Etharadar’s reigns. “Survivors?”

A grim tightness passed over the captain’s face and Keleria swallowed hard. “None that we know of,” she said with practiced composure. “The scouts that returned reported violet flames, unnatural levels of darkness, and the continued absence of any and all signs of wildlife. They all reported intense feelings of being watched. One of them investigated Zoram’gar Outpost and found it empty. The sand was red with blood and churned as if dozens were dragged into the sea. Further details suggest the force that attacked Ashenvale initially emerged from the rivers and lakes.”

“Are your scouts here?”

“Yes. But they’re in no state to talk. What we have is all we got out of them before they broke down.”

Keleria looked over the gathered Sentinels, an air of nervousness wrapped around all of them. She swallowed again and nodded curtly to the Captain. “Make your preparations quickly, I am going to scout from the air.”

“Any information you can bring back would be appreciated. Just be careful.”

She nodded and urged Etharadar back into the air.

Teldrassil fell away, Rut’theran, the ocean—Darkshore was as much a blur. Etharadar carried her down its old, battered body, slowly settling into its broken shape as weather and the simple, unerring flow of water softened the ragged edges.

Elune hung overhead, almost full, but Keleria took only the barest comfort in it, unable to quell the bone-deep chill at what she was seeing the closer she came to the border with Ashenvale.

Wisps.

Dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of them, a stream of spirits fleeing from their ancient heartland, slipping between the trees and over the canopy like an ephemeral river.

Keleria blinked hard. She pressed her heels into Etharadar’s flank and he dipped towards the canopy, swooping low until he could land on the peak of a ridge overlooking the pass into Ashenvale.

The weight of an anvil pressed on her heart.

Unnatural shadow floated between the trees of Ashenvale, an impenetrable fog that prevented even her Elune-granted vision from seeing any further. But from that fog marched figures wreathed in twisted magic, coiling, squirming, _slithering_ around their forms like the limbs of a squid. Some took it further, their very flesh warped into a grotesque, oceanic visage, an octopus grafted to the face of a person. They were followed by churning elementals, vicious and dripping their corrupted waters everywhere, their passage leaving swathes of deep, violet mire in their wake that bled through the soil.

**_“Ag agth iwhuk qwaz ongg! Sk zuq agth huqth Sath’gral!”_ **

The voice hit her like a drill to the skull. She reeled, choking out a yell, clutching her brow at the spike of icy nerve-shredding pain that shot through her head. She looked away for a moment, only a moment, but when she looked back _they_ were there, terrible and tenebrous, towering over their lessers as they emerged from the darkness.

Keleria whipped the reins, snapping Etharadar to lunge into the sky and take them back to Darnassus as fast as his wings could manage.

She did not look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We will devour this land! Your lives will sate the Old Ones!"


	5. The Dread Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forces of N'Zoth march through Darkshore, intent on carrying out their master's bidding...

Bloody, chaotic, and desperate—those were the only words Keleria could use to describe the last three nights. She scarcely slept, following the battles throughout Darkshore as they edged closer and closer to Lor’danel. On one hand it was to fight, unable to truly rest knowing such intense danger was so close. On the other…

She rose from her bed, a ‘mattress’ of gathered sheets stuffed in the alcove of someone’s home. There were too many bodies and not enough space in Lor’danel. Few complained when death was a stone’s throw away.

Night was falling and Keleria walked to the center of town, navigating throngs of refugees and Sentinels alike, crowding around campfires and glaive throwers, eyes shining with fear and anger. She came to the moonwell and stared into its holy waters, trying to massage the shake out of her hands.

Battle was battle. She was too entrenched in such matters to shy away and she knew well the effect it could have when it’s carnage left a mark. But this was something else, something more insidious. She wondered if it was what others were experiencing, before villages turned up empty and lost souls walked into the sea.

The compulsion was there, just under the skin, gently scratching.

**_Puul zig’tht maqdahl, vu qha…_ **

“No!” Keleria hissed instinctively. She swallowed hard and rubbed the back of her neck, frowning deeply. A cold, wet sensation slithered down her spine, forcing her to look over her shoulder and see nothing but the moon rising above Teldrassil’s great canopy. The sight gave her little comfort, try as she might. She may as well have been staring at Elune from beneath the waves, running out of air.

Maybe they were. 

At least half the population of Teldrassil were out of harms way, spirited to Azuremyst or Moonglade as resident mages and druids could manage. It wouldn't be an issue under normal circumstances, any reasonably trained mage could handle a portal, but it was the sheer number of people who needed transportation all at once. The mages were running ragged, and so were the druids.

Shandris and Tyrande were overseeing what remained of the army, striking critical points beyond Lor’Danel, performing otherwise flawless hit and run missions that would have cut the legs out from under a normal foe.

They still had no word about Malfurion’s status. The High Priestess refused to mention it, but her manner reminded Keleria of the Long Vigil, hard, cold, and entirely focused on the battle at hand. She could only hazard a guess as to why.

**_“Thoq fssh N’Zoth!”_ **

Foul magic streaked through the air, writhing, violet comets that slammed into barriers erected by watchful mages and priests alike.

Lor’danel erupted into action and _noise_ , but Keleria moved before any single order reached her. She charged to the northern bridge where barriers of brambles were being held by a druid and dove upon the oncoming monstrosities like a panther upon deer.

The flash of Azerite was familiar to her by now. Little wonder their forces tore through the area with such ease. But her people were nothing if not tenacious and Keleria was no different. She drenched the bridge in their aberrant blood, cutting down each and every wretch that tried to rush the defences. She took cold comfort in the give of flesh under her blade. It was progress.

All at once her skin prickled, shivering at a dreadful crackle of energy that swept over her from behind. She fell back behind the barrier and turned on her heel. Her stomach dropped.

Keleria sprinted through the town, weaving between defenders and archers, and bellowing as loudly as she could. “Azshara! Azshara!”

She raced up onto the hippogryph station and stopped at the railing, staring out to sea, staring at Teldrassil. There at its base on the northern side rose a colossal, bone-chilling figure, storm clouds sweeping in behind her, and javelins of azerite clutched in two of her hands.

Azshara had arrived on the battlefield.


	6. So Burns the Crown

It happened like an airship falling from the sky, like she were frozen in time, caught up in a molasses of paralysing dread.

Azshara impaled her azerite javelins into the base of the world tree and raised her upper arms to the swirling skies. The air bit at Keleria's skin, raising hairs and stinging her nose. She watched helplessly as lightning raced down to Azshara, streaming _through_  the dread Queen and into the javelins as a crackling column of fury that drowned out all other light.

White hot explosions burst along the tree's surface at the point of impact, surging upwards in plumes of fire and shattered bark. Unnatural flames gorged on the wounds left behind, chewing at Teldrassil's dense and fortified flesh as if the wood were from a tree one might have found in the mundanity of Elwynn Forest. The blessings of Ysera and Alexstrasza meant nothing to such fire.

Explosions surged up Teldrassil's side, raining pulp and flaming chunks into the ocean, and Azshara's terrible laughter carried all the way to Lor'danel.

"The time of the Kaldorei is at an end! Embrace oblivion!"

Her legs wouldn't move. Keleria clutched her blade tightly, hands shaking, aware she should be moving but completely incapable. She couldn't take her eyes off the tree, this last refuge of her people--this was it. They had lost everything, every last part of their sacred lands.

The shores of Lor'danel erupted with the cacophonous hissing and roars of naga forces, newly arrived. They were being squeezed from both sides and still, Keleria couldn't look away.

The next explosion was massive. It ripped through the great boughs cradling the easternmost stretch, shattering the land and launching the fiery remains of Starbreeze village into the sea. It fell in great pieces, tumbling and breaking apart. Fire and smoke rose from the wound with greater and greater ferocity.

Another bout of laughter,  sneering, victorious. Azshara urged the lightning along and explosions rocked throughout the bulk of the tree, spreading fire to the rest of it.

A great wind swept across the sea and knocked Keleria down. She lifted her head at a flash of silver light. It looked like a piece of the shining moon cut through the sky and collided with Azshara's eyes. She fell back as if struck by a warhammer, twisting away from the blow. Blood and scales sprayed from the naga Queen's countenance in a long arc and she shrieked in rage, disappearing beneath the waves. 

There was silence as the water settled, as Teldrassil blazed and the wind began to carry ash and embers across the strait, the heat that followed was stifling, and Keleria swallowed thickly.

The cries of naga and faceless alike forced her to her feet, the fighting renewed, and she could barely feel the sword in her hands.

The horn of retreat cut the air and Keleria blinked, staring in its direction. Shandris and Tyrande were holding an opening  to the southern stretch of beach where Ancients where most concentrated. Refugees and wounded Sentinels were fleeing through it.

Finally, she moved, racing through the town and blowing on her hippogryph whistle. She forced Etharadar to hang back in case she needed him, no matter how ferocious he could be in battle. She needed his mobility more than his beak or talons.

Reaching the beach, she turned briefly to observe the battle still raging and saw Sal'rasi and Asharii ablaze with their powers over fel and blood. They were a green and red beacon, drawing attention away from those unable to survive it. Many more were able to flee safely thanks to them.

Wings brushed over her head and Keleria turned, running to catch up with Etharadar and hop on before he lost momentum.  She urged him into the sky again and banked hard, towards Teldrassil--towards Darnassus.


	7. Firestorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keleria dives once again into a blazing population centre, with all the horror that entails...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Gore, descriptions of burning bodies, near death via smoke inhalation, etc

The stink of burning skin and hair clung to her nose. Its oily leftovers smeared across her hands and boots in thickening layers, cast to the wind as flakes on searing updrafts. Her hands burned, matted with blood, soot, splinters and goddess only knew what else—Darnassus raged around her, a too-familiar cacophony of noise and movement, screams and bodies and  _smells._

Her jaws clenched so tightly they hurt, grinding, grinding,  _grinding._  She pushed down the bile in her throat and heaved another fallen beam out of the way. She unblocked the entrance to a home and stepped inside.

A woman stood disjointed, head tilted, blood dripping between her feet, back turned. Two other bodies lay sprawled on the floor, their faces missing, their bellies carved like hogs. The room was awash in coiling darkness, unnatural, choking, it burst with dozens of eyes, burning like the fire. The woman turned to Keleria, bloody knife in a limp hand, used on her family, then to cut out her eyes. The shadows in their place burst to light too,  forcing the woman's mouth to split in a rictus grin. Blood and seawater foamed from her lips.

_**"Skshgn'ma yeh'glu zuq. Ywaq qo'zk fash'k!"** _

Keleria lunged before the woman did, instinct driving her sword through flesh and tendon, pushing the woman into a wall and pinning her there until she stopped moving. Keleria watched the light die in her eyes until only the sockets remained, visceral craters in a tear-stained face. The bile rose again. She staggered, letting the body slump to the ground, sprawling with the...

Keleria refused to look at the others again. She turned, unbalanced, and staggered from the house, out into the raging maelstrom of the city.

Hot air whipped at her again and she heaved a nauseous breath. Helpless cries assaulted her sense of direction. For a terrible moment, her legs stiffened, unwilling to move the longer she spent staring at the ashes and embers swirling at her feet, scattering and toppling over each other with every searing breeze.

A scream broke the air near her and Keleria turned, tripped, and stumbled onto her hands and knees. The paving stones were hot to the touch and she scrambled upright, coughing harshly. She could taste the sticky residue of charred body fat. Her tongue burned and she coughed again, trying to cover her mouth when the pain spread to the insides of her cheeks. For a second her lungs seized on the too-hot air and her feet stopped cooperating. She went down again, trying to find a pocket of air to breath in the ash and dirt. The heat was plucking at her skin. It was starting to peel and crisp it in turns. She could see the state of her hands and arms, a melange of ashes and glistening, angry flesh. It wasn't that bad, she told herself. She could still use them after all. Through sheer will, or Elune's, it didn't much matter.

She coughed again and a thin layer of something wet and  _crusty_  broke across her tongue. She nearly choked and instinctively spat it out, wetting her lips with fresh blood. She didn't look at what came out. She dragged herself to her feet and used the lip of a terrace for support. Her head spun, taking her vision with it. The hot air caught in her throat and she wheezed, doubling over.

She could still hear them. She could hear so  _many_  of them. Her heart screamed to push forward, to help, but her body struggled to take her any further than a few, pitiful steps. Even that felt like a titanic effort now.

A corrosive, acrid stench cut through the air, throwing her mind back to the Waning Crescent attack. Keleria shoved away from the terrace and drew her sword, swinging in a hard arc behind her. The blade cut a fresh wound into the demon's arm, spilling bright green blood across the ground.

"Keleria!"

She blinked, wavering on her feet, staring up at Sal'rasi's smoke wreathed figure. Her wings waved back and forth, trying to clear the air around them, and Keleria choked down an involuntary sob.

"There are too many," she said quietly. Even over the din, Sal'rasi heard her, face twisting in resigned sorrow.

Her legs finally gave out and the demon hunter lunged, catching her before she hit the ground. From there it was a blur, slipping in and out of consciousness, the fire, the screams, the smell of flesh and blood and bowels and all of it  _burning._ The ground split beneath them and Sal'rasi leapt across the lake, jumping from island to island. The surface boiled.

Sal'rasi's talons clacked against a stone surface. Panicked voices rose around them, frantic prayers to Elune, sobbing, calling the names of missing loved ones. One voice rose over them, urging people to keep moving. The last thing Keleria felt was the cool snap of arcane magic passing over her and the noise of her dying people simply vanished.


	8. Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teldrassil has left its mark and the rest of the world is reeling as the scope of the assault comes into focus...

Refugees fled into the Greater Barrens from Ratchet, each ragged and pale, tripping over their own tongues as if the words themselves were afraid to be spoken aloud. Tales of figures from the surf, sinewy, skulking things of seaweed and glistening, inky flesh. They preyed upon the town, devouring the slow, infirm and wounded, ripping souls from the bodies like shucked oysters.

They were still pulling bodies from the harbours of Stormwind and Orgrimmar. Fires started the throughout the cities as Teldrassil burned, and amongst the chaos and confusion, disciples of N’Zoth and their witless converts struck down key targets. Military leaders, officials, diplomats, but they failed to put down most of their critical targets. Most.

Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage was dead.

Only a handful of the Horde and Alliance’s most prominent figures escaped totally unscathed. The King and the Warchief were fine.

The people were another matter.

_ She  _ was another matter.

Her blindfold fluttered in the breeze, swerving and coiling on its slow descent into busy Stormwind harbour. Guards and militia hurried back and forth with priests and aid workers, volunteers, anyone who could offer help to recover bodies, root out corrupt remnants and build up defences in the event of another assault. 

Not for the first time since she was allowed out of bed and away from the watchful eyes of concerned healers, Keleria lifted her gaze to the moon. A dozen thoughts flew through her mind at the sight of Her, angry, accusatory, but none she could bring herself to voice. Her throat was still healing anyway. Just as well she lost her pipe in the fire. She couldn’t bear the thought of smoking right now.

The moon and stars bled together in a saline blur and Keleria grimaced, resisting the urge to clench her hands. They were still healing too, coated in a cool salve and wrapped in special bandages, still neat and tidy from the morning reapplication. She couldn’t feel much from them, a twinge here and there, an ache now and then, and they were harder to move. The stinging heat was left for large patches of skin around her shoulders, throat and lower face, leaving her smothered by the smell of antiseptic spray, and burn salve.

Rumours flew thick and fast among survivors and civilians alike and it was all Keleria could do to only listen to what sounded plausible. But what was plausible a fortnight ago was far different from what was plausible now, and she couldn’t much stand to listen to the sobbing fear and grief of her own people.

Blinking the tears from her eyes, Keleria turned from the harbour overlook and slowly made her way through the Cathedral District and the too-busy graveyard and its too-many newly filled plots. They were still digging new ones.

She crossed the canal into the Dwarven District and beyond its walls into sheltered farmland. Many of the refugees from Teldrassil made camp in the grassy spaces, a sprawling mass of the injured and grieving, of quiet Sentinels and civilians alike staring into the middle-distance. So many were trying to make the best of it, helping the human farmers, cooking fresh meals, tending to the injured, comforting lost children…

Her eyes came to rest of a gaggle of them, gathered around a familiar, wiry figure.

Grand Master of the Order of the  Broken Temple during the Legion Campaign, Taellen was a staunch and unwavering combatant against the demons despite her acerbic and often quietly intoxicated disposition. Now she sat on a well-worn stump, eyes wrapped in gauze that reeked of antiseptic--maybe it was still Keleria. Nonetheless, the old kaldorei turned her head in Keleria’s direction.

“Any news?” the monk’s voice was hoarse from inhalation. At least she could speak. Keleria moved closer and touched a stiff hand to Taellen’s shoulder. She leaned down to ear level.

“No,” she croaked, quiet and strained.

Taellen cocked her head and grabbed Keleria’s hand. There was no pain. Keleria stared at her wrapped digits, realising with dull resignation that healing them was probably a lost cause if she could barely feel anything. She wasn’t even on painkillers, despite the burns that  _ actually _ hurt. She could stand pain,  _ physical _ pain, and civilians would need that medication more.

She refocused her stare on Taellen. “Keleria?”

She managed a dry, ‘yes,’ and settled on the stump, letting Taellen rest a hand on her knee. The monk’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Sal’rasi’s been about but we haven’t seen the Knight around. Have you heard anything?”

Keleria stared ahead at nothing in particular. The fact that neither Taellen nor Sal’rasi had heard from Asharii said nothing positive. The Death Knight was always convinced Elune ‘kept’ her from her place amongst the stars to serve in an important battle. It was how she coped with her damned existence, coped with the urge to inflict pain and the  _ hunger _ instilled in her by the wretched San’layn. The Mother Moon would never be so cruel, but Keleria never verbalised such feelings to the Knight’s face. Asharii was a good woman, doing her best with a truly horrific fate, and perhaps Lor’danel was the  _ release  _ she craved.

Finally, Keleria sighed and closed her eyes. “No.”

Taellen was quiet for a while, then huffed, leaning against Keleria. Neither spoke again, too engrossed by their situation to think of anything meaningful.


	9. Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fog begins to lift as the First Arcanist comes looking for her missing beloved...

“I’m sorry?”

A look of wary befuddlement creased the human woman’s brow. She was on the younger side, a hard-working, earnest priest doing her best under the circumstances. But Keleria knew a lost cause when she saw one, so she repeated herself.

“Better to amputate.”

An uncomfortable pallor fell over the human’s face. She looked down at Keleria’s hands, half-way through their latest change. Most of the skin was gone to a third of the way up her forearms and a considerable amount of damaged flesh had to be excised, leaving behind a patchwork of contractures and dead nerves.

Swallowing, the priest continued dressing her hands. Keleria just stared at the wall of the medical tent, uncomfortable on the human-made cot she was sitting on while she humoured the priest’s efforts. It wasn’t made for someone of her stature or weight, and she was already on the tall side for a kaldorei, so she was bracing some of her weight on her legs.

The priest finished her work, gently patting Keleria’s hands to no effect or feeling. “It will just take time,” she murmured. “Please, don’t lose hope.”

Keleria rose without a word and walked from the tent, out into the sprawling camps and the late afternoon sun. She started to make her way back to Taellen’s spot only for something violet and distinctly arcane to catch her eye near the embassy building. The medical and supply tents were set up around it.

A varied flow of people came through the embassy before the attack, emissaries from the Lightforged and their Broken comrades, the Highmountain Tauren, from the Horde and other members of the Alliance. Now the demeanour of visitors was different. Now it was military advisors and career diplomats used to dire circumstances. But if that was all, Keleria wouldn’t have paid the figures outside any attention.

Thalyssra spotted her as she approached, shock and concern dominating the First Arcanist’s features. Her eyes flicked over Keleria’s appearance and she quickly closed the distance between them, lifting her hands to Keleria’s chin and shoulder. Her lips formed words but Keleria didn’t really hear them, watching the distress grow on her lover’s face with the rising awareness that she _should_ feel something, anything, but the most she felt was an internal nudge towards Thalyssra. Like a soft breeze in the sails to safe harbour after a horrifying voyage, ragged and spent and…

_“Keleria!”_

She flinched and hands held her tight, held her brow-to-brow with Thalyssra. But the voice was internal, intense, worried, and warm. Her legs nearly folded. It had been far, far too long since she ’d been able to hear Thalyssra’s voice in her mind.

 _"Thalyssra?”_ It felt strange to focus inwards and reach out as if the process were completely foreign and not something she had grown intimately familiar with.

Thalyssra’s hands moved to cradle Keleria’s face, the line of her mouth drawn and her brow deeply furrowed. _“I knew you were alive, but you weren’t responding to me and the interference around Teldrassil was overwhelming.”_ Keleria shivered at the mention of it and Thalyssra gently hushed her, brushing a thumb against her cheek. _“I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.”_

_“I do not know what to do.”_

_“Rest. You need to rest and recover.”_

_“Recover what?”_

Thalyssra blinked at her tone, perhaps it sounded cold and despondent, but Keleria wasn’t really sure what anyone expected her to recover. Teldrassil continued to collapse into the sea, raining ash across the northern reaches of Kalimdor and the south-western reaches of Northrend. Ashenvale’s people were slaughtered, as were the few who didn’t flee Darkshore in time, as were the many who couldn’t escape Teldrassil in time. Not to mention the damage her body suffered. And then there was the question of Elune. After everything, the most She could do was delay the horror.

Regaining her voice, Thalyssra pressed a kiss to Keleria’s brow. _“Your strength. Your life. Your identity. Whatever comes first, the next will follow, and I will be there to aid you.”_

She wasn’t sure how to answer the words, so she simply closed her eyes and enjoyed the tenderness of the gesture.

Thalyssra continued, stroking her hair. _“Return to Suramar. I will do all I can for the people here, but please, come home with me. Let me help you.”_

There was no desire to argue, to stay, or voice anything that resembled an opinion. Thalyssra was safety, an anchor to keep her from drifting with her disconnected sense of self, and that was more than enough to have her simply nod, and let Thalyssra's magic whisk them away from Stormwind.


End file.
